


At the End of the World

by a_dusky_gold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Canon-Typical Violence, Croatoan Virus, Croatoans, End of the World, Endverse (Sort Of), F/M, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Naiad!Dean, Post-Apocalypse, Psychic!Castiel, Teen!Dean (but not really?), Underage - Freeform, War Leader!Sam, Witch!Charlie, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies (obviously), some blood, some body horror, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dusky_gold/pseuds/a_dusky_gold
Summary: "If you wanted to share," Castiel mutters, "You would have. I'm not in the habit of pressing people to share personal information.""Because you can read their thoughts," Dean snarks back. "Talk about privacy laws, man."The Impala swerves as Castiel's head whips around to glare at Dean, swallowing the knee-jerk surprise at how corporeal he looks. It's been a full two weeks that they've been on the road together and still, Castiel can't wrap his mind around the fact that this being - who looks like a teenager - is as old as he is and is about a hundred times more powerful than him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPN Reversebang, I'm back! I've loved working on this piece and to my eternal surprise, I managed to actually keep it short, lol (though I'm probably coming back to fill in the gaps, of which there are many -_-). Thanks to [ liliaeth ](http://liliaeth.tumblr.com/), who made the awesome first piece that inspired this and the subsequent [ GORGEOUS AF ](https://liliaeth.livejournal.com/499840.html?mode=reply) pieces! Go show her some love, y'all! :)
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, Baya-the-Dragon, who never fails to kick my ass into gear. Thanks also to my little caramel, who took a quick look at this even in the midst of traveling and flying across the world, love you! :*
> 
> Quick note - I'm always messing up tags, and I don't think this necessarily contains any triggers, but if there are tags you think ought to be there that I've missed, please let me know and I'll add them right away! This is typical SPN level violence, though, with not too much angst and mostly just Croats being... Croats. And the explanation for the underage tag is in the endnotes of the story, just to be on the safe side! :) Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

"You can ask."

Castiel glances over at the form sitting next to him and raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Ask?"

"Why does a kid like me end up stuck," Dean waves a hand over himself, "like this?"

The psychic shrugs, returning his eyes to the road. For a long moment, the only sound between them is the soft purr of the Impala's engine, before Dean breaks the silence.

"You're not curious?"

"If you wanted to share," Castiel mutters, "You would have. I'm not in the habit of pressing people to share personal information."

"Because you can read their thoughts," Dean snarks back. "Talk about privacy laws, man."

The Impala swerves as Castiel's head whips around to glare at Dean, swallowing the knee-jerk surprise at how corporeal he looks. It's been a full two weeks that they've been on the road together and still, Castiel can't wrap his mind around the fact that this being - who looks like a teenager - is as old as he is and is about a hundred times more powerful than him.

“Hey!” Dean glowers. “Be careful with Baby, alright?!”

"I didn't _ask_ for this," Castiel informs him tersely. "And I've learnt to tune out people's thoughts over the years."

Dean flinches. "Sorry man," he murmurs. "It's just..." he waves a hand over the car, "Bit much for me. I'm _in_ Baby... I'm riding her and still..." he reaches over to pat the dashboard and his hand floats right through it. The jar of water Castiel has so carefully tucked away in his pocket warms, responding to Dean's agitation, and he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he tells him.

"Not your fault," Dean snorts. "I'm being a dick."

"You kind of are," Castiel feels the corner of his lips turn up in a smile almost against himself. Dean smirks back at him and then mimics reclining against his seat.

"We needs some tunes, dude," he states. "Baby's got a whole collection of tapes, round em up will you?"

"Tapes?"

"Oh yeah," Dean's grin is infectious. Castiel ignores the way his heart skips a beat at the sight of it - for heaven's sake, how can he be attracted to a man who looks like a teenager?

"All the classics, man!" he exclaims. "AC/DC, Zeppelin, and..." he goes silent, features arranging themselves into a pensive expression.

"Dean?"

"The Beatles... they were my mom's favorite."

" _Hey Jude_ is Claire's favorite song," Castiel offers.

"Yeah?"

"Jimmy used to sing it to her all the time," his throat clogs at the memory of his brother, rotting now in a grave at the far end of camp.

As Claire would soon be if they don't get back soon.

"If she's anything like Sammy, guessin' she can't sleep without it," Dean says.

The laugh bubbles bitter in Castiel's throat and he swallows it as he answers. "That and Catstiel."

 _"Catstiel_ , eh _?_ " Dean smirks.

"She was _four_ when Amelia got her the plushy," Castiel retorts. "And I was her favorite uncle."

"Sure, dude," Dean's voice is a sexy drawl that makes his stomach flip and Castiel growls under his breath, not entirely sure how to process the fact that he _is_ , apparently, attracted to younger, twinky looking men.

“Shut up,” he mutters. The sound of Dean’s chortle is accompanied by a warm pulse of the water in his pocket, and he finds himself smiling along despite his annoyance.

They pass the new few hours in a comfortable silence, broken only by the music and Dean’s occasional comment on how _“awesome the music used to be”._ If the cynical part of Castiel wants to protest that it wasn’t just music, but everything that was awesome - before the virus broke out, before the world began to burn, before… just _before…_ , then he shuts that down and just lets himself enjoy the sound of Dean’s voice for a while.

The first Croat comes out of nowhere. Sixty miles from San Jose, Castiel finds himself wrenching the wheel furiously, desperate to keep the car on the road. Next to him, Dean yells, fading away and he feels the water in his pocket pulse warmly, almost bubbling over.

“Dean, stop!” he snaps. “I can’t drive if you keep burning my skin every time you’re angry!”

The water bubbles a second time, almost in a grumble, before the hot bubbling  stops and Castiel sighs, turning his attention outward. The _screech-screech_ of the Croat’s long fingers against the Impala’s metal hood grates on his ears and he swerves sharply, trying to get the damned thing to fly off them. He almost succeeds - the sudden turn throws the Croat  off the hood and onto the side, hanging off of the window. Castiel resolutely ignores it; he doesn't want to see its face, not right now, not when Claire could be a Croat in less than a few weeks.

No. He _won't_ let that happen.

"Sorry man," Dean's voice comes again. "I didn't mean to distract you, I just... son of a bitch hurt my Baby."

He opens his mouth to answer when the second Croat jumps on to the Impala's other side - there are two of them hanging off the side now, one on each window and Castiel wonders absently at the symmetry of it.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swears, "Dammit man, isn't there a spell you can use to get 'em off?"

"I'm not a sorcerer or a magician, Dean!" Castiel says through gritted teeth. "I'm a _psychic_ , I can hear people's thoughts."

And he's trying very hard not to listen to the Croats right now - there's enough humanity left in them that they _have_ thoughts, but it's all hunger and blood and a need to feast on human flesh to satisfy a dark craving.

 _I want to eat you, Cas. I want to eat_ **_Claire_ ** _._

He breathes through his nose in a shallow manner, trying to drown the sound of Jimmy's voice in his head.

_Kill me. Please._

With a loud-throated yell, he slams the brakes hard, bringing the Impala to a screeching stop. The two Croats on either side are thrown off of the car, falling to a rubbery, shriveled heap on the dusty road in front of them. The memory recedes and Castiel forces himself back to the present, refusing to listen to the quiet sobs that darken the corners of his mind.

Dean fades, but Castiel can still sense his presence as he jumps out of the car, grabbing his shotgun. The swishing _click_ echoes around the clearing as he cocks the weapon and points it at the Croats.

"Cas, look out!"

Dean's incorporeal form passes through his skin harmlessly, but Castiel feels a sense of something damp against his skin. He whirls around, barely missing the three Croats Dean tried to warn him about, as they jump on him from behind, rolling over on to the cold ground and jumping up with a hiss.

_Eat, eat, eat... hungry, so hungry._

Castiel winces, but ignores the way the thoughts bounce around in his head. The five Croats in front of them hiss and spit at their feet and Dean swears under his breath as he materializes close to the psychic.

_I want your meat - so tasty._

"Fucking hell!"

_So much flesh, I'm so hungry._

Castiel fires off a shot at the one closest to them, watching the other four out of the corner of his eyes. The bullet catches the Croat in the shoulder, but the zombie-human doesn't stop, instead snarling and moving towards Castiel at a much faster pace.  They're boxed in and outnumbered, he realizes, holding back a curse of his own.

"Dean, we have to get outta here," he yells.

"No shit, Sherlock," the apparition screams back at him. Castiel doesn't know how he knows but he can sense Dean's frustration at being unable to do anything here; without a corporeal form, he can - at most - just watch for danger. He opens his mouth to respond, to reassure him, but then a Croat is jumping on his back and he forgets.

The shotgun falls to the ground and he rolls over, trying to throw the zombie off of his back. Long nails scratch crimson lines across his neck as the Croat refuses to let go. Castiel gags from the stench of rotting human flesh that almost overwhelms him; he doesn't know if it's from the Croat itself or a victim it has recently consumed, but he doesn't care. The Croat's blood won't infect him, but that doesn't mean he's not panicking at the way it claws at his skin, trying to get at his flesh and tear him apart to consume.

"Get off- get it- off-"

He struggles in vain, hearing more than seeing two more Croats join the one on top of him. The jar of water that he's carrying in his coat - Dean's very essence - rolls out of his pocket and lands on the ground with a thud and for an instant, he's terrified that it's broken.

"Let me-"

He's yelling, ripping, clawing back - Jimmy, lord, is _this_ what Jimmy was - _Claire_ , Claire's all that's left now - he has to get out - he _can't_ let her turn into this - he has to protect her - _Claire_ \- _Dean_ , where's Dean, he needs to get to Dean -

The loud _crack_ of a gunshot echoes around the clearing and at least two of the four Croats on top of him jump at the sound. Castiel grabs the opportunity and rolls over, throwing off the other two. His arm shoots out and grabs the first thing he can find with trembling fingers. It turns out to be a log of wood that he smashes over the head of one of the Croats. The thing groans and drops, and he pushes himself to his feet, moving back.

A tall, shaggy-haired man strides past him, holding out a burning log of wood. The Croats snarl and try to jump on him, but a second bullet whizzes past Castiel and buries itself into one zombie's shoulder, keeping them at bay. The shaggy-haired man ignores their animal-like shrieks and sidesteps his way through them, lighting them on fire easily.

"Sam!"

Castiel's head whips around to see a dark-haired woman holding out a second log. The shaggy-haired man - _Sam!_ \- lets out a grunt and she throws it to him. He catches it with his left arm, spinning it back to his right to quickly set it on fire with the log he himself holds. A second later, he's fighting his way through the small band of Croats, setting them alight without pause.

The woman moves to push Castiel behind her and help her partner. Within moments, the clearing fills up with the smell of burning flesh and smoke, the Croats dropping like flies.

When it's just them, the shaggy-haired man turns around and aims the shotgun at him. His companion also whirls around on one foot and glares at him, dark brows drawing together in an angry scowl.

"Who are you?" the man snaps.

Castiel ignores both of them, moving to grab at the jar of water still lying innocently on the ground. Sam growls and shoots the gun into the air once.

"I won't ask again," he says. "Who are you?"

Castiel ignores him, instead heaving a sigh of relief as the jar warms in his hands, the water bubbling softly. _Dean,_ he thinks, and before he can say anything else, a familiar voice interrupts them.

"Heya Sammy."

        

Water bubbles across him as Dean slowly re-materializes, bubbling his way into being. Castiel watches quietly, remembering with some amusement his own awe the first time he saw Dean.

"De-Dean?" Sam whispers.

        

The woman gasps, letting go of Castiel to move to his side. "Your brother, Dean?" she asks. Castiel starts - _she's deaf,_ he realizes. Sam doesn't answer, instead staring wide-eyed at the grinning, see-through apparition of Dean for a long, quiet moment.

And then he whips his gun up and shoots straight at him.

Castiel yelps, instinctively curling around the jar he holds in his hands, but the bullet passes through Dean's form harmlessly.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy!" the other man yells. "It's me!"

"I dunno who the fuck you are and how you're doing this," Sam ignores his brother and growls at Castiel instead. "But stop this right now."

"He ain't doin' anythin', Sam!" Dean says. "Cas is-"

"Who are you?" Sam snarls. "How do you have Dean's voice and face? How do you know my name?"

"Sam," the woman reaches out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off.

"Sammy-"

"Don't call me that!"

"My name is Castiel," the psychic interrupts as calmly as he can while still bleeding from being scratched at by the Croats. "That _is_ your brother, Sam. And I need your help, please."

"My brother is dead," Sam hisses. "I waited for days before Dad found his rotting corpse in a Croat warehouse."

"Your father lied," Castiel tells him. "Dean's body went missing, that's why he couldn't make it back - he's been stuck in that incorporeal form for almost fifteen years now."

"No. _No."_

The gun clutters out of Sam's hands and onto the ground. Dean shares a sad look with Castiel, whose heart becomes heavy with memories of his own dead brother.

"No," Sam's lower lip wobbles and the woman moves close, dropping her own gun to pull him into a warm hug. He buries his face in her shoulder, sobbing.

"Eileen, he- he _can't-_ Dad- _Dean-_ " he garbles.

"It's me, Sammy," Dean murmurs. "Dad lied."

"You're dead!" Sam cries, his voice hoarse with tears. "You're... you _have_ to be... you can't... Oh god."

"Sam," Eileen holds him up, "Sam, love, we need to get out of here."

She shoots the burning Croats a hard look and then pulls away from Sam to sign something at him. Castiel's sign language is rusty, but he catches _leave_ and _later_ , and he offers Dean a tight nod.

"Alright," Sam says. "Let's go. You," he turns to Castiel, the tears still glinting golden in the light of the fire. "You're coming with us."

"Don't forget my Baby, Sammy," Dean says.

Sam's close enough that Castiel can hear his sharp intake of breath. "Eileen, will you-?" he gestures towards the road, and she nods, quickly catching the keys he throws her. Leaning up, she places a quick kiss on his lips before striding out of the clearing in a brisk manner.

Dean whistles at the sight. Sam's expression turns startled and then narrows in recognition.

 _Dean_ , Castiel hears in his voice. _That's a typical Dean reaction..._ **_Dean_ ** _?_

Wincing, he focuses his attention away from Sam's thoughts; he needs the younger Winchester to trust him and this is not the way to do it.

"Show me where she is," Sam demands and he shrugs, walking back to where the Impala had been ambushed by the Croats. The car is still standing, thankfully, and Dean - who'd floated behind them so far - now suddenly appeared in the front seat, behind the wheel.

The image must have struck Sam, because he lets out a strangled whimper.

"Dean," he breathes. " _Dean_."

"Can't even drive her anymore, Sammy," Dean says. Castiel can sense the waves of bitterness coming from both brothers. He can't help Sam, he knows, but he reaches out to Dean, cradling the jar of water in his arms carefully.

 _Dean,_ he mutters. _Dean, I-_

_Forget it, Cas._

Sighing at the other man's response, he turns to Sam, who's still staring at the car with that heartbroken expression on his face.

"Would you like to drive?" he asks.

Sam barks out a sound that's a cross between a laugh and a sob. "Am I old enough _now_?"

"Have at it," Dean grins back.

Sam takes the keys and slides into the front seat. A sense of bittersweet satisfaction pulses off him and Castiel swears under his breath.

"He's... You're really here, aren't you?" Sam whispers, resting his head against the wheel. "How?"

"We should go, Sam," Castiel deflects, "I shall fill you in on the way, but we have to get out of here before more Croats turn up."

"Who are you?"

"A friend," Castiel answers tersely. "Dean and I... we're..." he trails off.

"Friends," Dean jumps in, "He's a friend, Sammy."

For a long, tense moment, Sam stares at him challengingly. Then, he offers him an abrupt nod, and gestures for him to get into the car with him. Castiel, surprised, slides in nonetheless and then, they're off.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The world  broke when Sam was still an infant. 

He remembers being five years old and sitting across Dean as his elder brother explained how the infection began just as Mary was pregnant, and how no one knew that they’d turn into flesh-eating zombies in those first few months. 

He remembers being ten, yelling at Dad to let them just stay in  _ one  _ zombie-free Bunker instead of chasing after the ghost of the mom who was killed by the random Croat who broke into their house. He remembers Dean getting in between them, trying to stop John from hurting Sam. 

He remembers being fifteen and waking up from a coma not to Dean’s relieved grin but John’s grim face. He remembers screaming at John that Dean  _ wasn’t  _ dead, that his brother wouldn’t  _ leave _ him behind because he wasn’t  _ Dad _ , he was  _ Dean _ , and Dean meant so much more. 

He remembers being twenty and standing over his dead fiancee’s body and finally,  _ finally  _ accepting that Dean was gone just as much as Jess was, that he was alone in a post-apocalyptic world full of man-eating creatures that somehow didn’t cause him harm. 

Sam remembers and the memories  _ hurt  _ \- because Dean is right  _ here _ , sitting across him in the passenger seat of the Impala in a pale shadow of what he used to be. 

He looks exactly like he did the day he went missing - leather jacket over plaid shirts, rugged jeans and a roguish grin that Sam knew would charm anyone, male or female, into his bed without difficulty. And his face is still that of the nineteen year-old brother Sam has never been able to forget - a brother who was a mother, father and sibling all rolled into one because their dad checked out when he was six months old and  _ Dean  _ took it upon himself to raise him. 

Guilt wars with suspicion in his gut. If this  _ is  _ Dean, that means that Sam gave up looking for him, even when he knew that something wasn’t right, that John’s tale  _ reeked  _ of something suspicious. On the other hand, he’s been fighting Croats and protecting his Bunker long enough that he can’t just accept what Castiel is selling.

“So you’re saying that my brother’s been stuck lookin’ like a watery-human-bubble for the past fifteen years?” he snaps at the man. 

“Yes,” Castiel says tersely. “Because his body mysteriously disappeared.”

“Right, because a person’s soul magically transforms into bubbling water.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the Croats don’t affect you, Sam?” Cas asks. “Why you woke up still human even after being bitten?” 

“Because they didn’t bleed on me,” Sam answers. He refuses to admit to the way his belly flip-flops; for over fifteen years, he’s blocked that memory, refused to consider what could have actually happened. 

Because if he does… 

If he lets himself remember…

“Oh they did,” Dean corrects him. “They bled on you and you fell, Sammy. That’s why I went to the well. To get you the cure.”

“There  _ is  _ no cure.” 

The ensuing laugh that leaves Castiel’s lips is far too bitter and knowing. “That’s what I thought when I burned my brother,” he says. “And now my niece is in the same condition - I’ll be damned if I burn her too.” 

Sam falls quiet. Neither his brother nor the psychic say anything, the only sound breaking the silence that of the Impala’s rumble. 

God, how long has it been since he heard it? They grew up in this vehicle, he and Dean. And it disappeared with his brother, but he’s dreamed about it for a decade and a half, just like he’s dreamed about Dean. 

“And what about you, Castiel?” he asks harshly. “You weren't affected."

"I'm a psychic," Castiel says. "As I'm sure your partner pointed out. I could sense her power from a mile away, not to mention you've been shielding your thoughts from me since the moment she left." 

"My wife's name," Sam says, "is Eileen." 

Dean whistles loudly. "Sammy, you dog!" he exclaims. "How'd you score with a chick like that, huh?!" 

Sam rolls his eyes despite the way his heart jumps to his throat - that, right there... that's exactly how he expected his brother to react when he stood at the altar, the space behind him empty in honor of the best man he should have had. 

Is this Dean? 

"Damn, brother," Dean continues, "You went and grew up too... look at you, lumbering moose, you-"

"Stop," Sam finally slams the brakes on the Impala and turns to them, the hot wetness stinging his eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he sees the reflection of Eileen slowing down in front of them and it bolsters him somewhat. 

"Just... stop. Dean's dead. He's  _ been  _ dead for the past fifteen years and I don't care who are you, Castiel, but I ain't buyin' what you're selling. So tell me the truth before I blow your head off." 

"Sam, it  _ is  _ me," Dean says. "I went out to find the cure, but before I could get back, my body disappeared." 

"How?" Sam whispers hoarsely. "If you did find the cure but you didn't make it back, then how am I still me?" 

A knowing look passes between Dean and Castiel before the latter turns to him and says gently, "I think you know already, Sam." 

"Son of a bitch," Sam sniffles. "He really did lie." He looks up at Dean, stomach churning from the thought - all this time, all these years... Dean's been alive. He was  _ out  _ there and because Sam was the one stupid enough to believe their dad, he's been stuck. 

"Dean, I'm sorry," he says, "I'm sorry man, I didn't- I can't-" 

"Not your fault, Sammy," Dean cuts him off in a gruff manner. "You were just a kid." 

"So were you," Sam says. 

They fall silent for a long moment. Sam sighs and reaches out to start the ignition again, putting them back on the road, and Eileen, who's been waiting for them, also follows, keeping their car close behind him this time. 

"So what now?" Sam asks. "How'd you find me?" 

"We were coming to you, actually," Castiel says. "I was searching for a cure for Claire when I came across the well Dean's been trapped in."

"Which is Cas-speak for he fell in and nearly drowned before I saved his naive ass," Dean snorts. 

"Which wouldn't have happened if you'd shown yourself as I was calling out to the strange aura I sensed," Cas retorts. Sam blinks, looking between the two of them, and nope, no - he's still seeing it. He smirks to himself; a decade and a half, and he  _ still  _ knows his brother's boning habits so well. If he wasn't so happy at having found Dean again, he'd be so grossed out right now. 

"Guys," he interrupts. 

"So," Castiel continues, ignoring his brother's annoyed huff, "Dean saved me. And told me about the cure he'd found that mysteriously vanished with his body." 

"Yeah, explain that," Sam asks. 

The jovial air inside the Impala fades. Dean sighs and then mimics reclining against the passenger seat. If it weren't for the translucence of his entire form, Sam would almost believe that he is right here, actually sitting there and kicking back like he used to. 

"When they bit you, Sammy," Dean says finally, "I ran out. Dad thought I was fucking mad - he wanted to kill ya so you wouldn't hurt anyone." 

"Ya," Sam grunts. He's not surprised; John Winchester's always been about helping as many of the innocents as they could, even as he wrecked his own family's lives. 

"I didn't care, I wasn't gonna let him hurt you. So I went in search of a cure... Bobby and I looked, but we couldn't find anything. Except..." 

"Except a wishing well." 

"Dean, you didn't," understanding floods Sam and he winces. He knows about wishing wells, knows about the dark fairies that live in them and always demand a price for their services. He’d almost take his chances with the Croats; fairies are capricious bastards at the best of times and they play dirty games to catch your souls. 

“Obviously, I did,” Dean snorts. “I had to. The fairy in the well - a dick named Crowley - told me that he’d grant my wish, if I let him hijack my soul for a water festival the rest of his passe was holding. Apparently, parading a human soul was one-way ticket to stardom or whatever.” 

“Dean…” 

“The party was actually fun, you know,” Dean continues on as though he hasn’t heard Sam’s strangled grunt. “Crowley even lemme dance a little… and I tell ya, Sam, dancing on water is the  _ bomb _ .” 

“Anyway, after that, he brought me back to where my body had been and vanished. I tried to get back, but I was tethered to the well since I was still in this,” he gestures down his body, “form, I was stuck. I called for Crowley, but the dick wouldn’t appear, and I just…” he shrugs. There’s a bitter tinge to his voice that hurts Sam to hear it, and he swallows past the tightness in his throat. 

“Wait, what about the cure?” he asks. 

“I didn’t know,” Dean says. “Crowley never showed after that and I spent fifteen years thinking I’d failed you… that you were either dead or a zombie, and I’d never see you again. Until…” he shoots Castiel a grateful look, “Until this dork showed.” 

“After my niece was bitten,” Castiel takes up the narrative, “I  was desperate enough to go even to a wishing well; I believed my psychic powers would protect me from fairie interference.” 

“Did it?” 

Castiel shrugs. “I dunno,” he says, “I only found Dean,” he smirks at Dean, and Sam has to roll his eyes at the blatant flirting. “After he saved my life, he told me about his deal with Crowley and how he didn’t know if his brother was still alive.” 

“I recognized your name, Sam,” Castiel nods at him. “You’re one of the safest Bunkers in this area, so I told him that somehow, somewhere Crowley must have cured you, because you certainly weren’t dead or a zombie. Since the fairie refused to appear to either of us, we decided it’d be best to head to you and ask you directly.” 

“Dad,” Sam realizes. “When I woke up from that coma, Bobby told me that he’d come back with the cure, but found your dead body and burnt it. I didn’t believe him at first.” His knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel tightly. “I should never have believed him at all.” 

“Sam,” Castiel reaches out to grasp his shoulder, “What’s done is done. You were a child. And we don’t know what actually happened, so let’s not jump to conclusions.” 

“You don’t know our Dad, Cas,” Sam feels the bitter laugh stick in his throat. “He’s… ya.” 

“And the cure?” Castiel says. “You do have it?” 

Sam sighs. “No one knows anything about it,” he says. “After I woke up, Dad went missing too. Only Bobby, Eileen and I know I was attacked by the Croats at all, and we kept it quiet, ‘cuz it’d be hell if the people knew that the head of Kansas Bunker coulda been a Croat himself.” 

“Fuck,” Cas swears. “Fuck, I need…  _ Claire _ .” 

“Cas, man,” Dean tries to comfort him, “We’ll figure it out. We’ll find another wishing well if we have to, but-”

“I don’t know how long she has,” Cas sounds broken. “Dean, she’s… I had Pam keep her in a state of stasis, but Pam isn’t as strong as I am, and I dunno how much longer we can hold that transformation… if she dies, if I lose her too…” he trails off, biting his lower lip and Sam feels his stomach tighten with sympathy. 

This -  _ this  _ desperation was what drove Dean back then. 

“Cas,” he says slowly. “I can’t promise anything, but I may have an idea…”

Castiel’s tear-stained face whips around to stare at him, and Sam almost winces at the intensely blue gaze that fixes itself on him. 

“Anything,” he whispers. 

“Dad’s journal,” Sam answers. “I’ve spent years trying to make sense of it, but neither I, nor Bobby could. Eileen’s powers aren’t strong enough to get a read off of it, but maybe… maybe you can?”

“And you, Dean,” Sam forges on determinedly. “If we can find a way to get you back to your body too… Dad’s journal would be the best place to begin.” 

“It’s worth a shot,” Dean shrugs. “Cas?”

“I don’t think we have any other options, do we?” the man bites his lip before rubbing his eyes with a sigh and offering Sam a nod. “Aright, Sam,” he says, “Let’s do this.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sam Winchester's Bunker, for all that it's one of the more infamous ones littering the United States, isn't all that different from his own. Castiel finds himself almost surprised at how simple it is, despite being touted so often as the most self-sufficient Bunker on this side of the country.

Of course, he sees why that reputation popped up in the first place from the insane number of security measures they're put through.

"Sorry," Sam shrugs. Even he isn't spared as the magical scanner whirs over his entire form. "It's protocol."

Dean's expression is wistful from where he's bubbling close to Castiel. "Dad set this up, didn't he?" he asks. "This has that son of a bitch's paranoia written all over it."

"Yeah," Sam says. "Which reminds me, Dean, they ain't gonna let you in without a screening. Or you, Cas."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Screening?"

"You're carrying water from a fairie's wishing well  _ and  _ you're a psychic," Sam says pointedly. "They aren't gonna let you just walk in even if you are with me."

"Damn, Sammy," Dean whistles. "Big hotshot are ya?"

Despite the teasing, Castiel catches the hint of pride in his tone and finds the corner of his lips curving up in a smile.

It takes them about three whole hours to be screened and processed - three hours in which they're prodded, poked and magically scanned again and again. Even after, when they're finally let inside the Bunker, they're eyed with hostility. Sam ignores the blatantly distrustful looks shot their way and strides into the main hall where his wife is already set up, cleaning out shotguns at the table.

_ "Hey you," _ he waits for her to look at him before he signs and then bends down to kiss her softly. Once again, Castiel's sign language is too rusty to follow the quick conversation that takes place, but at the end of it Sam's shoulders lose some of their tension and a soft smile appears on his face.

_ Love you. _

That one Castiel does catch, and turns away respectfully at. From the corner of his eye, he sees the tired, almost dejected expression on Dean's youthful face. Sympathy churns his gut - when Dean left him behind, Sam was only a fifteen year old boy, barely even grown. Now, he's a man in charge of the most self-sufficient and safe bases in the country, with a wife and family of his own. How much has Dean missed?

"Hello," Eileen greets them both. "I'm Eileen. It's good to finally meet you, Dean. Sam's told me a lot about you."

Dean grins. "And you, sweetheart," he flirts. "You're way outta my brother's league… how’d you give him a chance, huh?"

Eileen snorts. "I saved his ass from a Croat who had him pinned to a tree," she says. "And then kept saving it every time we met before I finally asked him out around the sixth time."

"Wooohoo, Sammy," Dean hoots. "I like her."

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam say wryly. “I like her too.”

“Sam, the journal?” Castiel interrupts, a bit impatiently. He’s glad that Dean has the chance to reconnect with his brother, but with Claire’s life in the balance, he wants to find the cure as soon as possible.

"Yeah," he says.

Eileen steps back with a quick kiss to his cheek and says, "I'll do a quick perimeter check. And keep the others from descending on you." She jerks her head towards where two of the other male hunters are glaring at them.

"Thanks, babe," he bends down to kiss her again, before gesturing for Castiel to follow him. Dean bubbles after them both and despite the seemingly casual stance he takes, the psychic can feel the way the water in his coat is getting almost too hot to manage.

"After Jess's death," Sam says as he leads them further into the Bunker, "I kinda gave up on the journal, stashed in my bag and tried to forget about Dad and his bullshit."

"Jess?"

"My ex-fiancee," Sam's voice is heavy with the loss that Castiel knows all too well. "She was killed by the Croats when we were twenty-one."

Dean winces, opening his mouth to say something and then closes it again. The jar in Castiel's coat wobbles dangerously.

A sense of utter desolation overtakes his psychic senses; it tells him that the elder Winchester wants to tell his brother how much he cares, but doesn't quite know how.

So he does it for him.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he murmurs. "That must've been terrible."

_ Thanks, Cas. _

Castiel acknowledges the other man with a tilt of his head - he knows what it's like to care  _ so  _ much that you freeze, unable to let that wave of feeling become visible for fear that it will swallow up the person whom you care for.

Sam shrugs in response. "Wasn't great," he says honestly. "I kinda lost it for a while... went chasing after the Croats for revenge." He barks out an ugly laugh. "Guess I was more like Dad than I thought, huh, Dean?"

"Sam-"

"Took Bobby dying for me to get my head outta my ass," he cuts him off. "I charged into a Croat outpost without backup and nearly got killed. Bobby saved me and got shot... son of a bitch made me promise that I'd stop chasin' revenge and try to live before he passed."

Dean makes a strangled noise. "Bobby's dead?"

"Ya," Sam says. He looks at the bubbling image of his brother and whispers, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean doesn't answer, but Castiel can feel the waves of grief that pass his way. His heart aches, and he reaches out mentally, past the shields that he usually keeps up to block out most people, and offers him the equivalent of a hug.

_ He must've loved you both very much,  _ he offers.

_ Was the closest thing we had to a father,  _ Dean answers. _ And I... I wasn't  _ **_there_ ** _. And Sam, I've missed so much of his life, I... can't... _

_ It wasn't your fault. _

The sense of self-derision that floats up from the jar is almost too much to bear and Castiel just sighs in response. He turns his attention outward, taking in his surrounding, already making a list of possible upgrades to add to his own Bunker from this one.

"We're heading down to the archives," Sam tells them. "Charlie's uploaded our data into the mainframe, but power's scarce, so we keep physical records down there. I stashed Dad's journal in there soon after Jess and Bobby died."

He takes them down the winding pathways of the Bunker. It grows darker and darker the further down they go, and at one point, Sam stops to pull out what looks like a plain piece of paper from his pocket.

"Ignite," he murmurs, and the paper bursts into flames, flying into the air and hovering there in front of them. Dean yelps but Castiel nods approvingly.

"Hoovers," Sam explains to a baffled Dean, "One of the witches from the Bunker in California made 'em a couple years ago. They're useless against Croats, but they help with lighting shit up."

"Huh," Dean leans forward, waving his hand forward experimentally. It passes straight through, of course, but the Hoover crackles ominously, as though sensing his presence.

"We should go," Sam says. The two of them follow the tall man further down into the Bunker until they emerge into a much bigger, much wider hallway.

The smell of old books and paper call to Castiel, and he inhales deeply. It's been decades since he's been around an actual library - not since before the zombies appeared has he been able to read properly. His own Bunker's collection is pitiful at best; while Castiel himself is of the opinion that knowledge must be preserved, even he can't deny that resources in their post-apocalyptic world must be devoted to keeping people alive rather than preserving books.

Rows of bookshelves line the wall, all of them weighed down by the heavy, tattered books. Quite a few of them are without covers and seem to be missing pages, but Castiel knows that even half a book is more precious than no book at all. Despite the urgency of needing to get back to Claire, he strides up to a shelf and reaches out a reverent hand.

He's so enthralled by them that he almost misses the small redhead who stumbles forward to yelp at his presence.

"Hey man, hands off!" she scowls.

"Charlie, no!"

Startled, he whirls around to come face to face with a pair of scowling hazel eyes. For a moment, he falls into her mind -

_ \- “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell” - _

\- before she punches his shoulder and yanks him out of his dream-like state.

"Cas!"

Wobbling back, he throws up his hands to warn both Sam and the redhead to stay away as he tries to right himself. Images bombard him - clearly she hasn't been trained in keeping her shields up - and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to get his own mental barriers up at least.

The jar in his coat thumps against his skin, and the feeling of being immersed in a cool lake on a hot summer's day covers his skin. His hands stop shaking, even as Dean's mind blankets his own, and he breathes in deeply, allowing the ink-and-paper smell to ground him.

"Cas?"

"I'm okay," he mutters, looking up slowly. "Just overwhelmed for a moment."

"Sorry dude," the redhead says. "Didn't know you were a psychic, or I'd have had my psi-dullers on." She holds up her hand to point to the bracelet hanging off of it.

_ A witch, _ Castiel realizes.

_ You okay? _

_ I'm alright, thank you, Dean. _

Turning his attention back to her, he tilts his head in acknowledgement, opening his mouth to answer -

_ Fuck. Fuck, Cas. _

_ Dean? _

"Dean!" he yells.

The warm presence in his mind vanishes and he's left cold and alone as though drowning in that same lake, swimming against a current so strong, he can't breathe.

_ Dean? _ "Dean!" _ Dean! _

"Cas, what's wrong?" Sam exclaims, alarmed. "Where did Dean disappear?"

Ignoring the younger Winchester and the redhead, Castiel fumbles with his jacket, yanking the jar of water from the wishing well out. From Charlie's sharp intake of breath, she can sense what is inside, but before she can say anything, he holds it up and clenches his eyes shut.

_ Dean? Dean, answer me! _

_ Ca-Cas? _

_ Dean! _

_ Cas, I think I'm... Cas... Cas! _

_ Dean, where are you?! _

_ I have the cure, Cas! _

Relief wars with worry as Castiel holds the jar closer to himself, hugging it to his chest. In the distance, he can hear Sam saying something to the redhead, but he doesn't pay any attention to that.

"Dean?" he whispers.

_ Cure - I have it - son of a bitch - Dad - Cas, I'm here - Cas? Cas! _

_ Dean, I can't hear you, Dean? _

_ Cas! Oh fuck, I can't move - Cas, I'm here, this is - Cas? CAS! _

The voice fades away, even as the jar in his hand grows too hot to hold. Castiel hisses and drops it - it falls the floor with a loud thunk, rolling over and over and over.

"No!" Sam yells from behind him. "Cas, what the hell are you doing-"

_ Dean! _

The water in the jar bubbles and hisses and boils - before Castiel can do much more than gasp, it's evaporated, the jar suddenly as empty as his mind is.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam sounds close to tears. "Cas, the fuck is happenin'?"

"It can't be," Castiel breathes, realization striking him. For a moment, he closes his eyes, breathing in deeply - the scent of Dean fills his nostrils, even as the faintest whisper echoes in the deepest recesses of his mind.

_ Find me, Cas. _

The presence is fading, vanishing, and fuck, he has no idea what he's doing, but Castiel is running, chasing after it -

"Dude, where're you going?"

He can't let it go now, he can't - he  _ has  _ to find him -

"Cas, no, you can't go there, you'll be eaten!"

He pays them no heed - the presence is almost gone completely, only the slightest thread keeping him on his feet -

"Charlie, go get Eileen! I'm goin' after him!"

_ There! _

Castiel skids to a stop in front of the huge, wooden doors that block his way. The presence is suddenly strong again, the aura familiar and welcoming and he knows, without an inkling of doubt, that it's right here, beyond this door, what he's searching for.

The cure...  _ Dean. _

He grabs the handle, about to yank it open, when a hard hand stops him.

"Sam, let me go!" he snaps.

Shaggy hair whips across Sam's face as he shakes his head solemnly. "I can't do that," he answers gravely. "I'm sorry, Cas, but this room is forbidden for anyone to enter... A bunch of Croats got into the Bunker and we trapped 'em in there and set fire to 'em. They're all gone, but the place has been cordoned off so the infection wouldn't spread."

"Sam, I know what the touch of the infection feels like," Castiel protests. "This is not it. Has no other psychic been down here before?"

"No... this is the first time anyone other than Charlie has even come down to the archives."

"Sam, please," Castiel begs. The presence - it's there, it's reaching out to him, it's calling -

_ Claire. _

The cure.

_ Dean. _

"Cas, I can't just-"

"Who locked the door, Sam?" Cas demands.

Sam's eyes widen in realization. "Dad closed it," he says slowly. "Cas, you're not-"

"When did he close it?" Castiel presses, "Were you there when the Croats took over? Did you see them? Fight them? Did anyone else?"

"Cas, you're not saying what I think you are," Sam exclaims. "Dad can't have-"

"I feel it, Sam," Castiel says quietly. "He's in there. Please... trust me. Just open the door."

For a long, tense moment, Sam simply stares at him, hazel gaze threatening. Abruptly, he sighs, and rubs the back of his hands over his eyes and nods.

"Okay, Cas," he says. "God help me, I'll open it."

He pushes Castiel back and then pulls out a knife from his boot, slicing his palm open without so much as a wince. Gently, he places his bleeding hand over the handle and turns it - the lock gives way with no resistance.

"Blood spell," Sam explains. "Charlie's mom was the Bunker's witch when Dad closed this space off and she tied it to Dad's blood, which means I'm the only one who can open it."

"It would have burnt me if I had turned the handle," Castiel realizes. Sam opens his mouth to presumably agree, when he catches sight of the figure in front of him.

Despite having been in stasis for over fifteen years, Dean looks surprisingly fit. He's wearing the same leather jacket and ragged jeans as he was in the watery-spirit form, but the body that the clothes cover is definitely that of a full-grown man's, muscled and powerful. The voice is deeper and the promise present in that youthful face has been fulfilled, the plush, full lips smirking out from a square, bearded jaw. The eyes, however, are the same - a deep, dark green that twinkle at Castiel the same as they did when he opened his eyes from nearly drowning inside a mysterious wishing well.

"Dean," he breathes.

He's holding a single rose the color of fresh blood spilt on snow -

_ There. _

That's it.

Castiel's heart races as he steps forward, his legs shaking - this is what he's been looking for. He can sense it.

"Dean?" Sam whispers plaintively, his voice small.

"Hiya, Sammy," Dean grins.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Dear Sam,_

_Before you ask, yes, this is Dean and he didn't die like I told you he did. The rose he's got in his hand is the cure and it was what I used to save you from turning into a Croat. But no magic comes without a price._

_And the price I paid for this is losing Dean._

_I got Bobby to put you in stasis, Sam, and then went after you brother - but it was too late. He'd already made the deal with the faerie of the wishing well. I found him lying by the water, still as a corpse, still breathing, still alive, but just barely. He held the rose in his hands. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, Sam, redder than anything and so utterly soft._

_Until I figured out that every time a petal fell, Dean became paler and his breathing became shallower. That was the price of the magic - it could cure the zombie infection, but it needed life-force to survive. So it would drain the bearer until they reached the person they were trying to save, and if they didn't make it on time... neither the infected Croat nor the rose's bearer survived._

_I did what I had to do._

_I found a witch to put Dean's body in stasis and then brought him back to the Bunker. No one except me and Charlie's mother knew and the only reason I told her was because I needed to stage the attack on the Bunker and then close off the section where I kept Dean. I had her cast stasis and muscle preservation spells on him, but that was all she could do._

_I used the rose to save you, Sam. And I hoped that Dean would wake up once you did, but he didn't. The rose was still feeding off of his life-force to survive, and I didn't know what else to do. So I did what I had to do to keep him alive - I froze both him and the rose._

_I went back to the well the same week, but there was nothing there. The faerie refused to appear for me, and I've not been able to find anything to save him in all my years of searching._

_You probably hate me if you're reading this. I wouldn't blame you - I hate me too. I pushed you boys too hard, made Dean grow up too fast, and never gave you anything you deserved. But I've done my best to keep you safe, and now, I'm heading out to find something to save your brother. I don't know if I'm ever returning and Gertrude is long since gone, even if her spells to keep Dean in stasis are still in place._

_I'm sorry, Sam. I hope that someday, you can forgive me._

_John_

Castiel sets the letter down, turning to Sam with a carefully neutral expression on his face. The younger Winchester is watching him earnestly, his lower lip trembling, and Castiel considers the past few hours with a heavy heart.

Finding Dean when he'd opened that door was a dream come true for Sam. Castiel had felt like the outsider he was, watching them catch one another in a tight hug, quiet tears flowing down both their faces -

\- until Dean had collapsed right then and there, in Sam's arms, breathing heavily. Sam rushed him back upstairs, leaving Charlie and Castiel to thoroughly investigate the chamber he'd been kept in and it was the redhead who found this letter.

 _It's painful,_ Castiel reflected, _how far we're willing to go for those we love._

"Can you help, Cas?" Sam asks hopefully. "Can you save Dean?"

Castiel bites his lip in response. If he tells them this...

_Claire._

Jimmy's face flashes across his mind and he sucks in a sharp breath, even as he watches Sam look at down at Dean on the infirmary bed, tears filling his eyes.

"I can't lose him again, Cas," Sam begs. "I just got him back, I can't..."

"There is a way," the psychic answers abruptly. "But it has to be Dean's decision."

"Hit me, dude," comes the weak reply from the bed.

"The fact that the rose was in stasis along with you, Dean, makes me believe that it is tethered to your living body. If we can somehow sever that connection, I have no doubt that you would survive..."

"But?" Dean prompts. "I sense that but there."

"But it could kill the rose," Castiel says quietly. "We'd have no cure for the Croat infection."

Sam stares on in confusion, but Dean understands instantly.

"Claire," he whispers.

Castiel doesn't say anything, but he can feel the utter wave of helplessness float across from Dean, and it comforts him somewhat.

"Your niece," Sam realizes.

"Yes."

"No," Dean declares. "There's gotta be another way."

Castiel shakes his head. "If there is, I don't see it."

"Dean, you can't," Sam sniffles, "I just got you back... You can't- you'll _die_."

"I've been dead for fifteen years, anyway, Sammy," he replies with a bitter smile. "Claire's just a kid, barely seven years old. She's got her whole life in front of her. If the rose can cure her..."

"You dunno that it will!" Sam argues. "What if you're dead even before we get you to her?"

"That's it!" Castiel breathes, the back of his neck prickling in realization. "Sam, that's it!"

"Dude?"

"Dean, we can put you back in stasis until we get you to Claire. We unfreeze you and the rose, use it to save her, and then I can try to to break the connection between you and the rose to save you.” Castiel pauses, flushing. “That is, if you’re amenable to that, of course.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam snaps. “No offense, Cas, but I’m not lettin’ you take my brother outta my sight.”

“It’s not your decision,” Dean mutters. “It’s mine.”

Sam turns pleading eyes to him. “Dean, you can’t - what if you don’t survive the journey? What if you don’t come back?”

“It’s a risk we have gotta take,” Dean says. “There’s a little girl out there, Sam, whom we coulda saved… you tellin’ me you don’t even wanna try?”

Sam falls quiet. His mental barriers are weak enough that Castiel can feel his desperation come through clearly, and as much as he feel sympathetic, he can’t afford to be nice right now. Not when Claire’s life hangs in the balance.

"We don't if this would even work," he says.

"We dunno that it won't," Dean counters.

Sam strangles out a laugh. "You were never gonna stay, were you?" he murmurs.

Dean goes silent for a long moment, before sighing and then shaking his head. "It's been _years_ , Sammy," he says. "You've grown up and I'm proud as hell of the man you've become... but I need... I don't... you barely reached my shoulders when I left, man. I need time."

Sam rubs his eyes with the back of his palms. "I'm sending Charlie with you," he warns. Dean opens his mouth to protest, "Save it," he pre-empts, "I need someone I can trust  to watch your back and if it's not me, it's Charlie."

"I trust Cas," Dean sounds like a sulky child.

"Dean."

"It's alright, Dean," Castiel smiles, "I understand where he's coming from."

"And you'll come back?" Sam's voice goes from the no-nonsense leader to that of the fifteen year old whose brother vanished.

Dean's eyes soften and he reaches out with a weak hand to ruffle his brother's hair. "I promise," he whispers.

Castiel watches, a warm tightness in his throat as the two brothers pull one another into a tight hug. Sam leaves soon after that, and then, it's just him and Dean.

"Still not gonna ask?" Dean asks tiredly, gesturing for him to come closer. The rose - _the cure!_ \- lies by his bedside, still looking as red as blood. A petal has already fallen off in the few hours since Dean came awake, his soul yanked into his body from the proximity.

"About?" Castiel's brow furrows.

"Why a kid like me would get stuck like this," Dean snorts, referencing their earlier conversation. He gasps, his face contorting into an expression of pain, reaching out blindly for Castiel as he tries to breathe through the sudden spasm.

 _I don't need to,_ Castiel responds, taking his hand and running his fingers over Dean's palm in an attempt to ground him. _I already know - you did it for the same reason I burned Jimmy._

_Will we still be able to talk like this even after I'm frozen?_

There is a sliver of fear to Dean's thoughts, a strange apprehension that Castiel can only sense because his mind is completely open to Dean.

 _I'm not going to abandon you, Dean,_ he addresses the fear directly. _Whether we're able to save Claire or not, I'm going to be here._

_...why?_

Castiel hesitates for all of one moment before he lets every barrier come down, allowing every vulnerability to become visible to creature that saved him.

 _Cas,_ Dean sighs. "You idiot."

Without another word, he pulls him down and seals their mouths together. Castiel goes willingly, palming Dean's cold face with his hand and kissing him back gently.

_Wait for me?_

"Always," Castiel breathes against his mouth.

         

**_-the end-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underage Tag - Dean gets stuck in the naiad!form he is in through the entire fic when he's a teenager. But his body has aged over the years, so while he and Cas develop feelings for one another while he's still Teen!Naiad!Dean, anything physical between them happens only when he gets back into his physical form which is the same age as Cas. 
> 
> And that's a wrap, lemme know what you think, folks! Come yell at me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dusky-gold) or in the comments.


End file.
